


Be gentle, sky, and let me rest

by prowlish (valkyrie_fe)



Series: tf_speedwriting's Spam Weekend [11]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Community: tf_speedwriting, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrie_fe/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz grinned. That was Prowl’s businesslike tone alright. Yep. He still had it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be gentle, sky, and let me rest

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt(s): #11: "That cold ain't the weather, that's death approaching."

“Hey, Prowl.” Ooh, not good; Jazz was  _not_  a fan of how weak his voice sounded now. Still, he hadn’t lost his touch -- his optics were still offlined, but he heard a frame shift nearby. Probably dozed off in a chair. And...  
  
“Yes, Jazz?” Jazz grinned. That was Prowl’s businesslike tone alright. Yep. He still had it. “Jazz?”  
  
Jazz hummed. “Just wonderin’ if you can sweet-talk Ratchet into bumping the heat up a bit. S’kinda cold, ain’t it?”  
  
A long pause. For a moment, Jazz wondered if he said something wrong. Blind as he was, he couldn’t tell; his friend’s face was open to him, in spite of how many others considered Prowl inscrutable. Silence troubled him when he had to rely on hearing.   
  
“Of course,” Prowl murmured. “I will have a word with Ratchet.”  
  
Something was definitely wrong. It was in the low tension of Prowl’s voice, the long pauses, but most of all, it screamed in the fact that Prowl had been sitting here long enough to have dozed off.  
  
Ah. Jazz smiled and waved a hand. “Nah, don’t bother him.”  
  
Another pause, and he heard the rush of air from moving doorwings. Jazz did so enjoy stumping Prowl, and even though he could imagine the bot’s face, he wished he could see it. “It is no bother,” Prowl said. His patient tone carried a note of strain. “Uncomfortable climate for a patient should be unacceptable for any doctor, so in just a moment -- ”  
  
Jazz interrupted with a laugh. “It ain’t the climate, and I ain’t stupid.”  
  
A hush came over Prowl. “I never said you were stupid, Jazz.”  
  
That chill crawled through Jazz’s circuits again, and he knew it had nothing to do with climate controls. “Good,” he murmured, “just keep that good sense about you.”

 


End file.
